cast-offs. That thought was unworthy of him--a trade was not his wild
way of possessing things.

He stood quietly leaning against a door on Papin's balcony, observing
the men laboring about the enclosure, his lip curling upward with fine
contempt. The "dogs" were hewing with axes about some newly made carts,
or rushing around on errands as slaves are made to do. Everyone was busy
and did not notice him in his brown study.

From within the room near by he heard a woman sing a few notes in an
unknown tongue. Without moving a muscle of his face he stepped inside
the room, and when his eye became accustomed to the light, saw a young
squaw, who sat beading, and wore a dress superior to that of the others.
She stared a moment and then smiled. The Bat stood motionless for a long
time regarding her, and she dropped her gaze to her needlework.

"I' nisto' niwon (You were humming)," spoke the statued brave, but she
did not understand.

Again came the clicking gutturals of the harsh Chis-chis-chash tongue:
"Whose squaw are you?"--which was followed by the sign-talk familiar to
all Indians in those days.

The woman rose, opening her hand toward him and hissing for silence.
Going to the door, she looked into the sunlighted court, and, pointing
to the factor who was directing workmen, replied,

"Papin." He understood.

She talked by signs as she drew back, pointing to the Bat, and then ran